Tuesday, 15 June 2010

Paranoia

So after some months of quite hair-raising ineptitude on the part of Banco Santander De Abbey National (or whatever), I am in the process of switching to First Direct, mostly because I haven't heard anybody I know moan about them so far. This, however, involves sending them a current bank statement - IN THE POST??? ARE THEY MAD???I have a problem with paranoia - being part of a generation brought up on Watergate, Vietnam, etc, my first reaction to anything is to wonder what's in it for somebody else. Why would that nice Chinese general choose me, out of all the possible bank account holders in the world, to look after $1,000,000 for him until he can defect to the West? Ditto the Portuguese National Lottery (whose email address, oddly, is in Russia), who so much want me to win that the fact that I never bought a ticket seems no obstacle - and some unspecified kindly-intentioned do-gooders in Nigeria who have found me to be the closest living relative of deceased billionaire Franklin Ngombo? Flattered as I am by their touching faith in my honesty, I have had to decline so many of these offers I now feel like Scrooge. I am tormented at night by visions of poor Reverend James Willy of Unicef (his real name! But of course probably not), wringing his hands and wondering why I have not replied to his email begging me to look after orphanage funds because, and I quote, THE CHILDREN TODAY IS OUR FUTURE UNICEF HAVE BEEN USING ALL MEANS TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD HAVE A NEW CHANGE BY CONTRIBUTION FROM GOOD MINDED PEOPLE ALL OVER THE WORLD WHO DONATE TO MAKE SURE THE WORLD IS GOOD FOR ALL HUMAN (Capitals and lack of punctuation all courtesy of the Rev Willy).Having become the cynical old bag I now am, I wouldn't consider giving anybody even my postcode these days - I am aware that all my social networking shenanigans links to itself, Facebook to Twitter to Blogger etc, but hopefully it's a closed loop - and I should be grateful that I am so wary of handing information out that I even balk at sending a bank statement to another bank - but I still am. On the plus side, I don't do actual conspiracy theories - life's too short, and I'm too busy losing sleep over the unfortunate General Weng and his desperate attempts to get his money into my bank account, the poor love.

12 comments:

I went for a job with them once. After 45 minutes of brainwashing "ra ra ra" groupthink, I decided I'd rather cut my own foot off with garden shears soaked in cat piss. So when it came to the psychological evaluation questionnaire thingy, rather than answer as someone who wanted to work there, I decided to be brutally honest. I "absolutely disagreed" with all the statements such as "I enjoy talking to people on the phone" and "absolutely agreed" with all the statements such as "I want to plant bombs underneath parliament".

Eek. Mind you the whole job of working for a bank must be so appallingly demoralising that they're consciously looking for perky mad-eyed Stepford types who "want to help" and feel their life is complete if they've sorted out somebody's ATM query. I'm just hoping that what I won't get will be the grumpy "Compu'er sez no" woman who couldn't understand the difference between a CHEQUE and a BANK DRAFT, or who looked at a wad of Canadian dollars and said "We can't accept that currency". Miserable old bat.

I've never been sure whether you have to be bonkers to work for a bank, or whether working there will drive the sanest person bonkers. Either way, I hate having to deal with bank staff in any way, shape or form - especially when they tell you that a cashier's cheque from THEIR OWN BLOODY BANK has to wait three weeks for clearance!

Problem here in Canada is that we have 18th century banking practices and 21st century technology and ne'er the twain shall meet.

I think it's a little of both (the bonkers thing). Years of working with the general public has never made me rude and inept though, which is a disturbing trend.When I handed over a couple of thousand in C$ they said "Oh I didn't know they had dollars in Canada"!!!!!! Confidence inspiring, oh yes.

Paranoid? me? you betchya....and I don't know why really..but I agree with your post. With regard to postcodes..do you ask customers in the shop for theirs? just wondering...and as for FD..used to bank with them and they were pretty good as far as any bank can be pretty good...

Actually we only ever take their phone numbers (if ordering books in specially) - I'm still amazed by the number of people who say "Oh it's Mrs Smith from Blenheim Avenue" or whatever - the only time I've taken address details it's to send stuff out to them, in which case the address should be the least of their worries given that I'm also taking their credit card details...!

I've never been the same re the Internet since reading Jeffrey Deaver's 'Broken Window' - I nearly burnt my Mac and credit cards... An enjoyable, light read - like 'The Ghost', but totally freakin' out making about data control/identities.

'The Ghost' made me laugh too - still want to see the film, although I've gone off Ewan Mc since Doubt.

Dear Mrs Fishwife, this is so funny, loved it, am still a customer of Banco Santander de Abbey Nacionale etc, but can't face the kerfuffle of switching; I have now started a bloggie (shameless self promo moment) inspired in part by our mutual friend in Bucks! I try to be funny in it but I think I just come off slightly deranged, oh well. Bx

What amazes me is that banks, credit card companies, etc. will tell you to protect your identity and not do this or that which could compromise your identity...and then, they ask you to do something just as irrational. And, they probably have no idea why anyone wouldn't want to.

I had to queue in Santander the other day as I've 'mislaid' my card in my house again... I could not work in a bank in a trillion years. Bar one person in the queue in front of me, everyone else had no ID or account number(?) they didn't seem to understand how a bank account worked at all, they caused arguments, got the hump because the cashier couldn't give them "their money" etc etc. While I sighed loudly behind them. What a pallaver and what a hideous job. I imagine it's similar to working at the Unemployment Benefit office. Good luck with your new account xx

eLizzy - Actually I'm less worried about data fraud than the whole Manchurian Candidate sleeper-agent scenario. One day my phone will ring, the voice at the other end will say "Lucy? Lucy Fishwife? Mrs Lucy Fishwife?" and I will instantly race off and shoot David Cameron with a sniper rifle. at least that will be the excuse I give the Met.

Blighty - brave the kerfuffle. It will be worth it. My neighbour was telling me how much she loves First Direct and I swear her face went all soppy as if she was talking about a new crush. Where's your new venture? Link to me!

Pilgrimchick - The last conversation I had with Banco Crappo involved them asking for my mother's maiden name, and I nearly didn't give it even to THEM. All I want is a microchip in my palm like the Mark Of The Beast, or maybe Logan's Run.

Christina - Oh yes, I have stood behind them before. Once there was a woman in front of me who was trying to prove her identity with a gold necklace that said Mylene on it - "Why would I be wearing this if I wasn't called Mylene??" (heavy sigh, pours drink).

Today (13th May 2016) I am mostly:

wondering if I can get to Tesco's and back for a sandwich without missing the afternoon book delivery (what are the odds)

reading "Archie" (the reboot of the 60s comic) by Mark Waid (Daredevil) and Fiona Staples (Saga). I was never, I should add in self-defence, an Archie fan, but the idea of it being all Sunnydaled up is intriguing. If you're a nerd.

wearing "Lys Mediterranee" by Frederic Malle. It's like I've beaten you to death with a bunch of lilies, and you liked it.

unable to stop singing "Cielito Lindo" (aka "the AI YI YI YIII song"), thanks to a violin-playing busker who has been playing variants of it outside for the last 4 hours.

About Me

A veritable dustbin of sparkly factoids. Don't let the fact that I smoke Gauloises put you off. It's a habit, not an indication of moral turpitude. I like anything in a martini glass too.
I used to say I hated politics, sport and reality TV. Then the Olympics happened. Now I just hate politics and reality TV.
My favourite quote is "Why must you tell me all your secrets when it's hard enough to love you knowing nothing?" (Lloyd Cole, for you Google searchers). Optimist by nature, pessimist by experience. Oh, and I'm a ginger.

Strange and oddly unrelated Google searches by which people have found my blog...

"pork pie sexual encounters"

"its hard to say words that is not final because many things happen in between"

"Fodens reliable ant"

"my wife say to ex i love you and to me say i love you"

"Frankie Boyle 2p sausage"

"crayon book pictures channelled whelk"

and a special apology to anyone who came here following the promise "Lucy has one of the hottest racks on the planet", IT'S NOT ME. THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER WEBSITE. Although my rack is epic in its own smalltown way.

Perfumes I may bankrupt myself buying one day.

He's one of us!!

Now I love him even more. If it turns out he also likes calvados, Nabokov and the TV works of Aaron Sorkin (what are the odds?) I will in fact lay down my life for him.

Role models I channel when necessary

Miss Prothero in "A Child's Christmas In Wales" by Dylan Thomas : "She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?" "

My mother the librarian, who can express displeasure with a very slight widening of the eyes. Invaluable for dealing with the general public.

My late paternal grandmother, a woman who consumed nothing but untipped Senior Service and gin 'n' sherry (aka "alkie's delight") and once drove down a 1:3 hairpin bend in her Reliant Robin with both hands in the air cackling "Of course, I'm COMPLETELY pissed".

Eleanor of Aquitaine - brought literature and table manners to Britain. And a fellow ginger.

Miss Jones from "Rising Damp". ...."Oh, Mr Rigsby, the music's gone to my head like wine!!!"

Lady Colin Campbell

Gertrude Elizabeth Blood, 1857 - 1911. I go and say hello to Gertie Lady C every time I'm near the National Portrait Gallery. The perspective is all wrong, but she's just daring you to have a go. A raised eyebrow says more than a thousand sarcastic put-downs.

Sei Shonagon (c.966 - 1017)

...also a big fan of pointless lists of things, although I have never reached the giddy heights of "Things that look a bit pathetic".

Esteemed Colleagues

Booksellers Anonymous

"Well, to be honest, after years of smoking and drinking, you do sometimes look at yourself and think...You know, just sometimes, in between the first cigarette with coffee in the morning to that four hundredth glass of cornershop piss at 3am, you do sometimes look at yourself and think...this is fantastic. I'm in heaven." - Bernard from Black Books

Fictional men I have had a crush on (in chronological order)

Asterix. I wrote a proposal of marriage, to me, from him, in yellow crayon and presented it to my mother. I was 4 at the time.

Snufkin.

Prince Gwydion of the Sons of Don.

Ged, aka Sparrowhawk, the Wizard of Earthsea (well, one of them).

Tintin. What can I say? I was 6.

Mr Knightley from "Emma". So much more appealing than the rebarbative and snotty Mr Darcy. Always marry your best friend.

Brat Farrar.

Steve Carella of the 87th Precinct.

Tom Ripley, eponymous hero of the Patricia Highsmith series. Not sure if I love him or secretly want to be him (how liberating would it be to just murder some complete stranger on a train because their clothes annoy you a bit?) Envy his cute french wife though.

Amit Chatterji. Honestly, how was he not the most suitable boy?????????

John Constantine, the old Hellblazer himself. Well, it'd be rude not to. He's hot! He's scruffy! He's British! He's a warlock! And he smokes! Although the fact that he seems only to smoke Silk Cut makes him oddly wussy.

Charlie Parker - not the jazz musician, the private eye from "Every Dead Thing" et al. Traumatised. Psychic. Mind you the fact that I have a crush on John Connolly, the author, may have a bearing on this.

Berry Rydell from "Virtual Light". Endearingly shambolic.

King Mob from "The Invisibles". Buff, bald, a trained assassin, and an inveterate quoter of The Kinks.

Dexter Morgan, unapologetic (nay, gleeful) serial killer from "Darkly Dreaming Dexter". The TV series got him wrong, even if it was great viewing. Should have been Brendan Fraser.

"Angel" by Thierry Mugler. Vile. Smells of the cat-hair-covered toffee you find down the back of the sofa. Also of ageing and desperate cabin crew.

The "Toast" catalogue. Smells of linseed oil and old haddock. WHY??? What are they printing it on? Or with???

Wet Barbour jackets, and don't kid yourself otherwise, Tarquin.

Things people do that make me want to slap them.

Shout "I can't believe you're doing this to me" at a traffic warden who is, usually deservedly, giving them a ticket. Believe it, love, the evidence is right before you.

Preface a question with "Question!"

Get grumpy about "too much choice" in bookshops etc. What the hell does "too much choice" mean??? I've started saying cheerfully "Absolutely! Bring in a totalitarian Communist state and you'll just have one book which you'll HAVE to read!"

Sulk. Irritating in a small child, positively BACKWARD in anyone over 15.

Use phrases like "it's not in my skill set" when they mean "I'm too idle/self-important to learn". Lucinda Ledgerwood, come on dowwwwwn!!